Even Triple-Threats Feel Doubt
by antinomian
Summary: Zoë and Miles are keeping things casual. While Miles works on getting over Tristan, Zoë finds herself attracted to a girl. How will a revelation like this affect Zoë's career and reputation? Will Miles be able to help Zoë through this? Ziles friendship and light romance early on, Triles (at least implied), and a female/female pairing later.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own Degrassi or get paid to write fanfiction. I'm not sure how far I'm going to take this fic, but it came to me just now. Here goes.**

It had been three weeks since Miles and I made round two of our relationship official. So far, not many people even knew we were together. It was summer after all, and seeing as how most of the school appeared to be mad at _both_ of us, we were each other's only options. It was clear going in that my billionaire ex and I were hardly the new Triles in terms of romance or passion. Our "what should we call what we're doing?" conversation didn't happen in the middle of a hurricane after a horribly messed up teacher/student affair (or molestation experience, if you'd rather be honest with how you read it) or contain some life-affirming moment where all of my bottled up self-doubt and shame was erased by a single kiss. I wondered, seriously, if Tristan and Miles's first kiss was really that epic, as I knew Tristan could be overly dramatic at times. Still, it was clear that I wasn't coming between whatever they had, at least not for a long time.

"Listen," Miles said after we watched the last of the seniors cross the graduation stage. "I know you've been taken advantage of before, and the last thing I want to do is be one more loser in your life."

"So don't be," I said firmly. "Tell me what you want this to be, straight-up, and we'll roll with it."

He nodded, offering a half-smile. "I can't really do serious right now," he said. "Maybe in a few months when things look better for me and I've had some time to process what happened with Tris, but…" he paused. "People say I'm a terrible person. My own _brother_ thinks it."

I interrupted with a laugh. "Now I see why you and Tristan were so perfect for each other. The two of you are both so…maudlin."

"Hey, come on now," Miles said with that cocky half-smile. "I'm baring my soul here!"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I'm Miles Hollingsworth," I said, adjusting my posture to imitate the tall, sometimes overconfident boy. "I am on a mission to prove that _I_ am the worst person ever. I'll start by pleading my case to Zoë motherfucking Rivas who put two of the _actual_ worst people ever in jail where they belong last year."

"Good point," he said. "I can't compare myself to creeps like those guys or Yates. Still, I have no idea what I want, and I have no idea how not to fuck up."

"Sounds like we're meant to be," I told him.

Three weeks later, we were still spending almost all of our free time together. Miles had his family therapy and I had my legal counsel and volunteer work, but in the time we actually _did_ have, we were pretty inseparable. His mom wanted him close to home after some of the gang activity rumors started circulating about various Degrassi boys. It was a bummer, but it eventually worked out okay for the two of us seeing as how his family has a giant, uncrowded pool in their back yard. Since Frankie was doing some kind of summer class with Winston, we usually had the space all to ourselves. We swam, we splashed, we dunked each other, we kissed, and most importantly, we talked. It almost felt like having a best girlfriend who was also something else entirely.

One night, as the sun was setting, I finally asked the question. "What was it like, dating Tristan?"

With a pained smile, he lifted himself out of the pool and said, "Intense. What do you want to know?"

"Well…I don't need _details_ or anything," I said, shuddering at the mental image of my current sort-of boyfriend and my best friend together. "What I mean is…did you ever think about being bisexual before you kissed him, or was it just a sudden thing?"

He shrugged. "Well, you know me. I always have a plan."

"I'm serious," I told him.

"Fine," he sighed. "Well…there was this day in Paris when everyone was guessing if I was gay or not. It was weird, because I sort of always thought that if I liked girls, that was just it, you know?"

I nodded. "Of course. I get that."

"Then, I started wondering like…what if I didn't put limits on it? Could I have as much fun with Tristan as I had with a girl? I told myself 'no way' for a long time, but then one night the timing just made sense, and there it was."

"Wow," I said with a laugh. "You really don't put much thought into things."

He shook his head. "Relationships never work if you overthink things. Ever since I found out my dad was cheating, I've had to watch my mom actively overthinking _everything_ he did. Was he _really_ a cheating loser, or was he deprived of some need to play the field as a young boy because his dad was too strict to let him? Was he _really_ hitting his own son, or was there some context for it that I was just omitting when I told her about it?"

"Wow," I shuddered, feeling the evening breeze against my wet skin. "That's awful. I didn't know how bad it was. I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "It's fine. It's over now. My point is, things either make sense or they don't. They're either working or they're not. If you have to spend tons of time figuring out what people's motives are, something's probably wrong."

I nodded. "I've felt that way before," I said, thinking of the way my mother used to excuse rude directors and sexist casting agents with complicated theories about 'industry standards' and things just not being what they used to be.

"Exactly," he said. "So…come on. Why are you asking me these questions?"

I shrugged. "There's not anyone right now, but would you completely hate me if I told you that after you kissed Tristan, I thought about it a little?"

He looked taken aback. "Kissing Tristan? I'm pretty sure he's gay, Zoë."

"No," I said. "Not _that_." I lowered my voice. "Girls."

"OH!" he said. "OH! Girls!"

"Can you be a little louder?" I asked. "I'm not sure you've alerted the entire neighborhood yet."

"If you're anything like me, this didn't just happen randomly," he said. "Who have you been checking out?"

"No one!" I said. "It's not important."

"Come on," he said. "You can tell me. Or…do I have to guess? Don't make me guess or it'll get super weird!"

"Knock it off," I said, only half-teasingly.

"Let me see," he said. "It's not Jack, is it?"

"Why would it be Jack?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know. You two had power cheer squad together. I thought maybe it was something like how Tristan and I got to be better friends while we were on the basketball team."

This time, my laughter was self-derisive. "Are you kidding? Everyone on the power cheer squad hates me now, remember? Why would I waste a crush on any of them."

"Hey," he said. "My sister was on that squad."

"So you want me to get a crush on her?" I asked.

"Point," he said. "Okay, who's not on power cheer squad. There's Imogen, but she was in grade 12 last year."

"She's…not my kind of weird," I told him.

"Noted," he said. "Okay, so not a cheerleader and probably not a senior. That leaves…oh God. Is it Maya?"

"No!" I said, reaching into the pool just for the chance to splash him.

"Hey!" he said. "It's getting cold outside. Not cool, Zoë. Not cool."

He got up and moved toward the actual _towel dispenser_ his family had outside, grabbing one to dry himself off with. Realizing how cold I was getting, I followed him.

"You're not going to get it right," I taunted. "Give up now, Hollingsworth."

He shook his head. "No, I got it now. I so got it. It's Grace."

If I could have seen my face in that moment, I'm sure it would have been beet red with shock and embarrassment. "Tell anyone, and you're dead."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed/followed/etc. Gracevas is apparently canon now, but I'm going to continue this fic as if "Don't Look Back" never happened and instead give my take on how they get together.**

 **Possible trigger warning for mention of sexual assault + the Yates situation in this chapter.**

Now that he had properly guessed my girl crush, Miles was in full gloating mode. He flashed the same smug smile he wore during that week or so last year when he really believed he had muscled Zig out of the competition for Maya's heart. I wanted to be annoyed with him as he laughed his head off, crying out "I knew it! I so knew it!" Instead, I simply felt happy to see my friend's cocky smile again instead of the miserable, moping one I had seen so much of during the past semester. I knew that if I admitted he was right, he would lose interest in the gloating and that smile would be lost. Against my usual nature, I wanted to preserve it for just a while longer.

"No you didn't!" I argued, playfully smacking him in the shoulder. " _You_ guessed that I liked _Maya_ before you figured it out!"

"That's because _everyone_ likes Maya," Miles said matter-of-factly. "Everyone likes her, and she hardly likes them back."

I groaned. "You're not still hung up about her, are you?"

"Nah," he said. "I'm not still into her, but it still feels a little shitty knowing that smug asshole, Zig got her."

"He's not that bad," I argued.

"Right, sorry. Wasn't he your boyfriend for a hot minute or something?"

"Or something," I said, not wanting to remember that horrible afternoon when he found me with pills and stopped me from becoming Degrassi's next suicide case. Zig and I weren't exactly friends after everything that I lied to him about last year, but I would always appreciate what he did for me.

"New subject," Miles beamed. "Grace! How did this happen? I want deets!"

I giggled at the way Tristan's teen slang had rubbed off on Miles. "First, you have to tell me how you figured it out!"

Miles paused, stroking his chin in reflection. "Well," he said, "I was trying to think like…what if instead of being an incredibly handsome bisexual _guy_ , I suddenly became a smoking hot bisexual _girl_. Obviously the only kind of guy I'd wanna date in that hypothetical would be that dashing Miles Hollingsworth character."

"Oh, please," I said with a laugh.

"I had to ask myself, what kind of girl could possibly draw my attention away from a catch like Miles Hollingsworth the third."

"You are so full of yourself," I teased.

He nodded. "Acknowledged. I figured to let a hot guy like that just slip through my fingers, I'd _have_ to at least have hope that the girl I was into was gay, and let's face it. Most of the girls at Degrassi are pretty hopelessly un-gay if you ask me."

"I've noticed," I said, unsure of where that came from.

"I mean, think about it," he said. "You've got Maya who's a constant hetero love-triangle waiting to happen, and aside from her you've either got my sister and her boy-crazy friends, or you can take your chances with Grace. Y'know…the one who never seems to have a boyfriend and never seems to _care_ that she never has a boyfriend?"

My heart fluttered with hope. Although I had been at least passively attracted to Grace since last November or so, she had always been an unrealistic target. I fell for her very suddenly, before I even had a chance to think about whether she was gay or not. Conveniently enough, I was about equally attracted to Zig at that time. He was straight and available, and I assumed she had no interest in girls, especially girls as preppy and unpierced as me.

"You think she's gay?" I asked him, my interest suddenly piquing. "Why? Do you know something?"

"I think it sort of has to do with body language," he said. "With most girls, you'll notice they have a specific way they act around girls, and it's different from how they act around guys. People who are all the way straight or all the way gay usually have like…a specific way they act around guys, and a specific way they act around girls. It's never just the same for both."

I had never really noticed that. "Really? How?"

"You ever notice how when someone like Frankie talks to other girls, she's not really conscious of her body language, and she just kind of chills like she's with her own kind or whatever, but then when a guy shows up, she sorta stands a little farther away from him and acts a little more guarded?"

"I guess," I said. "Yeah, most girls do that."

He nodded. "It even happens around guys she doesn't like," he observed. "There's this subtle difference between how she acts talking to guys versus talking to girls. Then you look at someone like Grace, and she has that super casual, we're all just bros kind of attitude around guys and that 'what do you want, and why are you looking at me?' thing going on whenever she talks to girls. It's obvious who she's more scared to disappoint, and it isn't guys."

I thought about this for a moment. "Sure, but there are also girls like Jack. All her friends are girls."

"It doesn't really matter who your friends are," Miles said. "Next time you're around her, watch how she carries herself around girls, and then compare it to guys. Trust me, you'll see what I mean."

Miles's theory didn't seem fool-proof, but I couldn't entirely dismiss any system that made Grace and me seem _vaguely_ possible. "But what about you, then?" I asked curiously, wondering how Miles's gaydar picked out bisexuals.

"What about me?" he asked. "I act pretty much the same around everybody. You've seen me."

That definitely seemed true. He seemed to have a mixture of both types of behavior with both sexes. "I guess you have a point. Do I do that?"

"Act the same around everybody?" he asked. "I haven't really noticed."

"Come on," I pleaded.

"You're trying to get me to say whether I think you're bi or not," he said. "I'm sure you have enough people in your life trying to tell you who to be. I'm not gonna be one of them."

I nodded, remembering the way everyone automatically tried to pin down Miles's sexuality in France without asking for _his_ input. "That's probably good."

"What you need is people who don't care one way or another, as long as you're happy. That's how I feel." He sighed. "Of course, it would be way easier for me if we were both straight and happily into each other, but I'm not getting the sense that that's where either of us are headed. That's okay."

For a moment, I felt like I could see the super romantic guy that Tristan was always going on about in the snarky sarcasm machine I was casually dating. For all the dry humor and cockiness, there was still something genuine about him.

"Wow," I said. "That's really nice."

"It happens sometimes," Miles said. "So. If you had _no_ idea she might be gay, why did you pick Grace?"

"You don't just pick who you have feelings for," I said.

"True," Miles said.

"After the videos went out about my assault, I felt so completely helpless," I explained. "I mean…in a weird way, I was almost glad the pictures were there because otherwise I would have had _no idea_ what happened." I experienced a sudden flashback to the gruesome sight of blood in my underwear a few mornings after, and the doctor telling me I had _vaginal tearing_. I was pretty sure that no two words would ever disgust and horrify me as much as those did.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, taking deep breaths and reminding myself that the ordeal was long over. "I'm fine."

"Carry on then."

I nodded. "Every time I saw a pair of guys at Degrassi, I had to wonder ' _was it them? Was it them?'_ God. I remember there was a while when I _seriously_ believed I would never know who assaulted me. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine going to school every day, never knowing who had seen you naked and taken advantage of you?"

Miles bowed his head in shame, perhaps still feeling guilty for leaving me in the pool house that night. "No," he said. "No, I can't."

It was the right answer. "If it hadn't been for Grace, I probably still wouldn't. She got the security footage from your party and made a list of every guy on the basketball team and who he was hanging out with that night. Then, she sent an e-mail to one guy from each pair, claiming his buddy ratted him out."

"I remember that," Miles said, turning red. "That was one of the worst days of my life."

"Poor you," I said, feeling certain I would rather have been accused of it than lived through it.

"Sorry," he acknowledged. "Go on."

"If it wasn't for her, I might still have no idea who it was. She had my back when no one else did, and I never did anything to earn it."

Miles frowned deeply. "I'm never going to feel like I've said 'sorry' enough times for not keeping you safe," he laughed dryly.

It was definitely a point of awkwardness between us, and it was probably the reason why none of our kissing and flirting ever amounted to anything for me. I knew I could trust Zig to stop me from killing myself and Grace to help me catch the bad guys. Miles was the guy I could count on to listen and not judge me. That was great in a friend, but it wasn't enough to make me feel comfortable imagining him naked. Not after what happened.

The air around us was starting to get chilly. "Do you want to maybe go inside?"

"That's probably a good idea."

I followed him into the living room, where he flipped a light switch before I could squint to protect my eyes.

"Ow."

"Sorry," he said, tossing me the beach bag I left by the door. "Why don't you go change?"

I nodded, heading into the bathroom to do that. I was grateful that he brought me back into his living room instead of the pool house. Drying off, I came to the uncomfortable realization that _both_ of my horrible sexual experiences (which were also my _only_ sexual experiences so far) happened in there. It was probably why every time I tried to fantasize about someone, we ended up in that disgusting place. Sometimes, I felt like my mind would never be free until _someone_ made it up to me someplace else.

As I hung up my wet bathing suit and slipped on a pair of real underwear, I started wondering what Grace's bedroom looked like. My mind came up with dark blue walls covered in band posters, sheets with skulls printed on them, and a military-grade laptop on a cluttered desk. Even if it looked nothing like that, it still would look _nothing_ like that damn pool house. Pulling my jeans on and buttoning them, I wondered if it would be unfair to ask someone to be your first fully consensual time. Drew was technically consensual, but I wanted a new first time with someone who wanted it for the same reason I did. Maybe if Grace and I did it, I could finally imagine having sex on something other than that disgusting pink-cushioned recliner.

"You okay in there?" Miles called.

I realized I had been occupying the downstairs bathroom for longer than was necessary, so I hooked my bra, pulled a t-shirt over my head, and came back out. I giggled at the sight of the fuzzy blue bathrobe he was wearing.

"Did Tristan buy you that?" I asked.

He actually blushed. "He saw all my usual bed clothes were just ratty old boxers and took pity on me," he said. "I still wear it because it's comfy. This has nothing to do with him."

"Sure," I said, wondering when I should break the news to Tristan that the ex he was pining for wasn't actually as over him as we both thought.

"Speaking of Tristan," Miles said, picking up his cell phone. "There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about."

I watched him flop onto the leather couch and joined him for what I hoped would be a refreshing change of subject. Talking about my crush was getting a bit exhausting.

"Shoot," I said.

"I've known about this for a few days, but I didn't want to say anything until I was absolutely sure they were going through with it, but…"

"Slow down," I said. "Who's going through with what?"

"Winston's parents pressed charges against Yates a few weeks ago. I've known that for a while, but I just got a text saying that it's going to court," Miles explained. "I think Tristan should know about this, but I don't think I should be the one to tell him."

My eyes widened with shock. "Yates assaulted Winston?"

"It didn't go as far as it did with Tristan, but…there was touching and it wasn't the appropriate kind."

The thought of that perverted teacher made my skin crawl. "Tris mentioned there was someone else, but he didn't say who it was," I said.

"It was Chewie," Miles said matter-of-factly. "I think it's part of why he's been acting so weird lately. Ever since that creep touched him, he's just been trying _way_ too hard to impress people, almost like he thinks he needs to prove to everyone that it's not affecting him or something. Last semester, he had everything going for him, and it was like he couldn't even see it."

"I remember what that's like," I said, a collage of memories from the singing competition and my overzealous _Wicked_ audition surfacing in my mind. "He probably thinks that if he can just do one really amazing thing for himself, he can forget what happened. Take it from me, though. It doesn't work."

He looked relieved to hear that his friend's behavior was at least normal, however frustrating it was for those around him. "I really want this for him," Miles admitted. "He _needs_ justice. I'm just scared because his lawyer thinks he has a better chance if he can get Yates's other victim to come forward."

My stomach dropped, knowing where this was headed. "Tristan," I said flatly.

Miles nodded. "Someone needs to warn Tristan about this before random lawyers just start knocking on his door."

From the pleading expression in Miles's eyes, I knew this was going to have to be me. "Tristan's parents don't know," I told him. "He doesn't want them to. I don't even think Owen's heard about it yet."

Miles half-smiled. "Yates would be beat up in a dumpster by now if Owen knew."

The violent image was vaguely amusing to me. "This is serious, though," I told him. "He's gonna freak."

"I know," Miles said. The thought was obviously killing him. "Part of me feels like I should be the one to tell him, but I think if we're ever going to get back to actually _talking_ to each other, I need to open with something other than 'hey, Tristan! Remember that sex offender you used to date? I need you to testify against him so my friend won't lose his mind!"

"I'll tell him," I said resolutely.

I could see the visible relief on Miles's face. "That's perfect. You've been there. You know what it's like better than I could."

"On one condition," I added.

"A condition," Miles said uncomfortably. "What kind of condition?"

I sighed. "As much fun as we're having, it's obvious you two still have feelings for each other."

He sat up straight in his car. "Did he say something? What did he say?"

I shook my head. "You're still wearing his bath robe, and he's still dating random Teendr guys."

"I thought that was going well," he said.

"As well as desperation ever does," I said. "If I talk to him about this trial, then you have to promise me _you'll_ stop brooding about how much better off he is without you and actually give him a real chance."

"He is better off without me," Miles argued. "Until he says differently, I'm going to assume it's the truth."

"You are so frustrating," I told him.

"I'm serious. If he comes to me and he honestly tells me that he'd be happier with me than he is with that Greco-Roman deity he's seeing, then I'll take him back in a heartbeat. Until that happens, I'm keeping my distance. I don't want to ruin his life again."

"Ruin his life?" I asked. "What will it take to snap you out of this and make you talk to him already?"

I realized that giving Miles bargaining power was the wrong move as soon as I saw him get a big, twisted smile on his face. "I'll let you set me back up with Tristan if _you_ let _me_ hook you up with Grace."

I gasped, feeling both defeated and ironically amused. "You're seriously going to be my lesbian wing-man?"

"Bisexual wing-man," he argued. "I can hardly be considered a lesbian."

"Good point."

By the end of the night, I felt much more satisfied and hopeful about life than I had since I was forced to take the fall for _Degrassi Nudes._ Miles made everything seem possible, including my ridiculous fantasy about being with Grace. My light, happy mood was only interrupted when I remembered what I needed to do tomorrow.

Tristan was at my house about five minutes before he needed to be, probably because the words "Miles said to tell you…" appeared somewhere in my invite text.

When Tristan came to the door, he looked completely different from the way he had looked at the end of the school year. His hair was dyed black, and the blue t-shirt and crisp white shorts he was wearing looked new.

"Nice hair," I said, trying to ease him into the conversation.

"Thanks!" he said brightly, with a dramatic eye-roll. "Maya's friend, Grace did it. Can you believe I let her touch my hair? I was convinced she was gonna destroy it, but she actually did a killer job."

"Grace?" I could feel my heart beat faster.

"You probably don't know her," Tristan said. "She's one of the _Rubber Room_ kids Maya became friends with after she sang a song about wanting to kill you."

I blushed harder, imagining Maya telling Grace that it was _my_ fault she was stuck there. Hopefully that didn't happen, and there was still hope for Miles to make Grace and me happen.

Tristan gave me an imploring look. "So what's the big news you had me come over here for?"

I motioned for him to actually come inside, not wanting to have this conversation on the front steps.

"I always forget how nice your house is," Tristan remarked. "It's so quiet, too."

We walked into the kitchen, where I politely offered him some lemonade and cookies. This was going to be horrible.

"Thanks!" he said, looking excited about my mother's predictably incredible baking. "These cookies are life."

"I'll pass that along," I said casually. "How should I say this?" I asked. "Do you want bad news first or good news?"

"Good," he said, taking a giant sip of lemonade. "No wait, give me the bad news first. That way, when I'm hopelessly depressed, the good news will make me feel better."

"Good plan," I said, taking a seat across from him at the kitchen table. "It's about Yates."

In place of his usual defensive behavior, Tristan actually recoiled at the sound of our old teacher's name. Maybe he was starting to realize how scary what happened to him really was.

"It's okay," he said, putting on a brave face. "I'm over him."

"This isn't just about your relationship," I said. "It's…about what he did."

I could tell that Tristan wanted to be irritated with me for accusing Yates, but he also seemed to understand me completely. "Did he hurt someone else?" Tristan asked, sounding both concerned and slightly ashamed. "Besides me and Winston?"

"Not that I know of," I said, "but Winston's parents are taking Yates to court. They have a date set now, and it's pretty much definite." I paused, watching my friend's face fall.

"They want me to testify, don't they?" he asked.

I nodded. "Miles wanted to tell you himself, but the two of you haven't exactly been talking."

"Obvi," he said. "He's moved on; why would he bother breaking the news himself?"

Feeling frustrated, I sat down next to my crestfallen friend. "He didn't make me tell you because he doesn't care about you," I said.

"Sure," Tristan said.

"Tristan, he specifically asked me to tell you because he was afraid of how he might mess it up!" I said. "He still likes you, but we can talk about that later."

For a moment, all of Tristan's anxiety vanished. "He does?" Tristan's expression quickly stiffened as reality hit him again. "Zoë, this is bad. My parents don't know yet," Tristan said. "I was kind of hoping they would never have to find out."

I nodded. "I get it. I felt the same way when I found out they were pressing charges against Luke and Neil. I knew my mom would take it okay, but I was afraid of how my dad would react."

"It's not the same, though," Tristan said. "What happened to you was 100% not your fault. What happened to me was _completely_ my fault."

"Tris," I argued. "He manipulated you."

"And I went along with it!" Tristan argued. "Eagerly."

"And I bet he didn't do a _thing_ to pressure you," I snapped. I knew it was harsh, but I needed my friend to see reason and stop blaming himself.

Tristan nodded. "I guess so. The first time we did it, he poured us both a drink. I had never drank anything before, but I didn't want to look like some basic high school kid, so I did it. He didn't start pressuring me until after I had at least two."

I could feel my own nerves twitching at the thought. "Tris, if you were _drinking_ first, you couldn't have consented. Not legally, anyway."

He offered a fake smile, trying to brush off what I said, then lowered his gaze. "It's not like what happened to you, okay? I wanted to hook up with him."

A flashback emerged of the way I was dancing in my short pink dress before Neil and Luke found me drunk. "The night when I got assaulted, I _totally_ wanted to hook up with a guy," I said. "I even said so, but if I was going to hook up with anyone, it should have happened while I was sober."

"Mine was different," Tristan said. "You were completely passed out. I wasn't. I was just…"

"In the kind of mental state where people make bad decisions," I said. "Yates knew what alcohol would do to you. You didn't. That's why it's creepy and horrible and someone needs to stop him."

Tristan nodded. "You just wanted to hook up," he mused. "I just wanted romance. I wanted what Maya had, you know?"

"You got what Maya had," I said, "and you didn't need that creep to make it happen."

"Really?" Tristan asked. "Sometimes I wonder if the only reason Miles got with me was because he felt sorry for me after what happened."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Listen, Tris. Tell Miles I said this and you're dead, but remember that bath robe you got him?"

"Yes," Tristan said. "How do you know about it?"

"Because I saw him wearing it!" I exclaimed. "The boy still has feelings for you. The only reason he's not saying anything is because he thinks _you've_ moved on."

"I have moved on," he said, "but if I ever thought there was a chance with him, I'd make one hell of a U-turn for him."

"Then do it," I said. "Talking to him last night made me realize that I'm actually not as into him as I thought. You go right ahead."

Tristan looked uncomfortably at me. "First I'll need to figure out what I'm going to do about this trial."

I nodded. "Yeah, but you don't have to figure that out alone, okay? I've been through court. I know what it's like."

"Okay," he said with a sigh. "I guess I'd better tell Owen first, just so he doesn't hear it from someone else and pulverize Grant."

"Good plan," I said. "Do you want me to go with you to tell him?"

"Please," he said. "Can we go now? I don't want to put this off. I'll make myself sick."

I agreed, feeling slightly impressed with my friend's fortitude. Of course, just as we were headed out the door, I got a text from Miles.

 _Miles: Come over! Maya and Zig are here, and they brought Grace! Guess who's feeling like a major third-wheel?_

I quickly texted him back.

 _You, or Grace?_

 _Miles: Both. Are you with Tris?_

His timing could not have been worse. Given how quickly the Yates trial was approaching, I knew that our talk with Owen couldn't really wait. At the same time, I wasn't sure how many other opportunities I'd have to end up at the same location as Grace _and_ get Tristan and Miles to actually talk to each other. I had a tough decision to make.


	3. Chapter 3

Earlier

 _The last week of school, my arm was sore from scrubbing down the cafeteria's grill line after everyone else had left. It was someone else's job, but I saw how dirty it was during the lunch period and saw my chance to prove how sorry I was about Degrassi Nudes. Breaking through the crusted orange stains was much more grueling work than I expected, and I was left with a stinging, achy bicep._

 _Of course, the next day just had to be chicken nugget day. Unluckily for me, people went crazy for those breaded pieces of poultry-flavored gristle. The line extended out the cafeteria door and down the hallway, which meant my service needed to be three times faster than usual._

 _Just as the second lunch rush came in, I noticed the bin of nuggets was completely empty. I frowned, realizing it was my turn to fetch one of the heavy refill trays from the kitchen. As I turned toward the door, Miles said "I got it!" and disappeared through that swinging door._

 _I smiled gratefully until I realized I was alone with the entire student body. There was a blonde niner-looking girl waiting for her mashed potatoes with a hand on her hip and her lips pressed together in a judgmental expression. "You know why nobody likes you? It's because you're exactly like Gatsby Garcia. She's fun to watch on TV, but no one actually wants her around."_

 _That smug little blonde looked so pleased with herself for insulting grade ten's fallen queen bee. I didn't know how to be hated, only feared and adored. In that moment, I was so angry that my hand started shaking, and the mashed potatoes I was scooping for her missed her cup, instead splatting onto her tray, with a few stray pieces hitting her fuzzy blue sweater. She screamed, and Pill was on me before I could even offer the girl a napkin. Of course Pill was convinced that I did it on purpose. She thought about writing me up, but then she remembered it was the last week of school and reluctantly decided to let it go._

Present-Day

Miles promised to be my wingman _last night_ , and Grace was already in his pool. My pseudo-boyfriend worked faster than I thought possible. I was so close to either ditching Tristan or manipulating him into coming to the party with me until I realized it was exactly what Gatsby would do. In season eight, episode two, she had to choose between accompanying Sara at her abortion appointment and going on a date with her long-time crush, Eric Lettau, who was finally back from study abroad. If I wanted Grace or _anyone_ else to like me, it was clear that I needed to stop emulating Gatsby Garcia.

Tristan was standing in the archway between my kitchen and living room, finishing his phone call with Owen. A few _sounds goods_ and _see you soons_ were uttered before he ended the call and returned to the kitchen for a second cookie.

"Just got off the phone with Owen. It's his first day off in weeks, so I guess it has to be today."

Apparently Hollingsworth pool parties happened more often than Owen's days off. I nodded with understanding and mentally cleared my schedule for the day. "Sorry," I texted back. "Tristan needs me to day."

On our way out the door, Tristan stared at my phone with interest. "Tell me there's juicy gossip on there. Tell me _anything_ to get my mind off this nightmare."

I thought for a moment about how I could make this story exciting rather than depressing. If I just straight-up told Tristan that I was missing a potentially fun pool party to deal with his trial business, I knew he would feel guilty.

Once we rounded the block and found a bench to sit on, I began telling my story.

"Remember season eight, episode two, when Gatsby had to make that choice between being there for Sara and going out with Eric Lettau?"

My friend smiled bashfully. "Eric Lettau is my future husband," he said. "Wait, I get it. So right now, you're Gatsby, I'm Sara, and then…" he looked at me with interest. "Who's Eric? Is it Miles?"

"I already told you, Miles and I are better off as friends," I said.

Tristan thought for another moment before frowning. "Tell me it's not Zig. You and Maya seriously need to stop fighting over boys."

That I agreed with. "Truth."

Poor Tristan was never going to guess correctly. " _Tiny_?" he asked desperately.

All I knew about Tiny was that Shay had a massive, almost embarrassing crush on him and refused to just admit it already. "Nope."

Tristan went down the list of guys in our grade, guessing Winston and even _Damon_ before he admitted defeat.

"Did Miles guess it?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah," I conceded, "but he had a hint."

"That's no fair!" Tristan pouted. "Where's my hint?"

I giggled, realizing this was my chance to keep my other promise to Miles. "Guess you'll have to ask Miles for it," I said, "since I just don't feel like saying it a second time."

"You're so mean," Tristan complained.

"Would talking to him really be so horrible?" I asked. "It's obvious you two like each other, so why all this drama?"

He wasn't smiling anymore. "I can't even think about him right now. Not when they're about to drag up all the awful, humiliating stuff that happened with Grant." Tristan looked over at me curiously. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Just…move on after something like this? How do you let some new guy touch you in all the same ways the pervert did? I feel like I'm never going to trust anyone that much again."

The question was surprising coming from Tristan, if only because he rarely opened up to me on that level. "I wouldn't know," I said honestly. "I'm wondering the same thing myself."

"So you and Zig didn't…?"

"No."

Saying it felt sad. Zig had promised me that if we ever did it, we would take things slowly and make sure I was comfortable. He had to mention that Grace was literally coaching him on how to be a good boyfriend to an assault survivor, which sadly endeared me more to her than it did to him. The constant niner nudes he was looking at definitely lessened my attraction to him, but then I acted like a total hypocrite and started literally selling nudes to people. We both screwed up, but at least he seemed ignorant of how his actions were hurting me. I knew damn well he'd be crushed to learn about _Degrassi Nudes_ , and I didn't care. Knowing he deserved better than me, I let him go. After that, I decided I'd never let someone deserve better than me again. I was trying to be a better person.

A new street name appeared on the screen above where the driver was sitting. Tristan pulled the cord, and the bell sounded. The bus pulled to a halt, and we arrived at a crowded maze of brick apartment buildings and corner stores. Then, the real fun of navigating the windy, uneven streets toward Owen's apartment began.

"The dorms all got filled, so Owen had to live off campus this year," Tristan explained. "Thankfully he pledged, so he's moving into the fraternity next semester."

We kept walking and rounded a corner toward a new series of apartment buildings, all of which were about two stories of crumbling red brick. Eyeing his phone, Tristan led us into a small parking lot that was separating two tiny apartment buildings. The one on the left had a single front door with different buttons to ring each of the tenants. I watched as Tristan expertly chose the right one and waited. A few moments later, a buff, brown-haired guy was unlocking the door for us.

"Come on in," the guy I assumed was Owen said. "It's a bit of a mess inside right now, but you can make yourselves at home," he grimaced, "to the extent that it's possible."

We walked down the hallway toward the wooden door labeled "2," and Owen swung it open to lead us inside. The disaster he described was real. His front entrance was made of dirty tile that was obviously suffering from the lack of a welcome mat. Several pairs of dirty looking shoes had been tossed about in the small hallway, some with socks either stuffed inside them or wadded up next to them.

Tristan looked horrified. "What happened to that shoe rack Mom got you?"

"I keep it in _my_ room," Owen explained. "The time when I left it out here, it ended up covered with everybody's shoes and dirty socks. I think I even found a random slice of pizza on it one day."

My friend looked thoroughly disgusted. When I visited the Milligan residence once or twice last year, I remember it being immaculately clean. Theirs was one of those households where everyone took off their shoes at the door and signed off on a chore wheel. Owen was probably in hell in a place like this.

"Let's go into the living room," he suggested. "At least there's a place to sit in there."

I could hear crunching under my sandals as I walked and soon realized that the floor was sprinkled with popcorn. Sighing, Owen rushed out of the room and came back with a vacuum cleaner. Tristan and I glanced nervously at each other while our host cleaned, knowing the information we had for him wouldn't please him.

"So sorry," he said, finally turning off the Dirt Devil. "You two should sit."

The green futon was incredibly saggy, so I made my descent very slowly, wincing at the metallic crunch its frame emitted as I sat. Just as Tristan started to sit down, he leapt back to his feet. "I'm so sorry! I forgot to introduce you two!"

Owen laughed. "Gatsby Garcia needs no introduction," he said with an affectionate eye roll toward his brother.

"You watch _West Drive_?" I asked.

Tristan quickly jumped in to cover for his visibly embarrassed brother. "I convinced him it was only fair that if I had to go to all his boring sports stuff, he should at least watch my video recaps."

The three of us sat down on the sagging futon, and Owen gave his brother an intense look. "So, what's this about? You sounded freaked on the phone."

"Something happened last year," Tristan said with his hands clasped in his lap. "I thought it was nothing. I wanted it to be nothing, but apparently now it happened to someone else too, and it's going to be a bigger deal than I thought."

Owen looked at his brother and then at me. "I'm afraid I'm gonna need you to be more specific than that."

"Remember that English teacher I told you about? The one I had a crush on?" Tristan waited for his brother to nod before continuing. "Last year, he invited me over to his place so we could talk about a paper. Then, he seduced me. With alcohol. I wasn't comfortable, but I let it keep happening because I thought I meant something to him. Boy was I wrong. Turned out he molested another guy in my class, and now there's going to be an investigation and a trial. They want me to testify."

Owen cupped his head in his hands, wearing an expression that uncomfortably reminded me of the way my mother looked at me when her initial anger over what happened to me wore off and she simply had to sit with her pain and her guilt over failing to protect me. It wasn't my mother's fault that I was assaulted just like it wasn't Owen's fault now, but I could tell that a similar feeling of powerlessness was weighing him down.

He looked up slowly, apologetically. "Tris, why am I just now hearing about this? In all the years I've known you, you've _never_ had secrets!" Owen then glanced over at me. "This guy was the out-and-proud seven-year-old on our block who had no problem telling literally _anyone_ exactly what he was feeling exactly when he was feeling it." His attention returned to Tristan. "What the hell did that bastard do to you?"

"He had sex with me." Tristan said it so matter-of-factly that he could have been stating which subjects Mr. Yates taught.

"I don't mean physically," Owen said with a sigh. "How did you stop being the guy who said 'fuck what everyone thinks' and auditioned to play gender-bent Juliet to the kind of guy who keeps this huge of a secret from everybody?"

Tristan shook his head. "Auditioning was easy," he said. "I just had to be myself. The difference is that back then, I actually liked myself."

My friend's words made me shudder as I thought about their implication. Loving yourself when you were performing for your fans was much easier than loving a person who had been violated, humiliated, and thoughtlessly discarded. I hadn't exactly ever wanted Luke or Neil to _love_ me, but I had hoped that one or both of them would eventually say "I'm sorry" instead of what basically amounted to "I'll tell people to stop calling you a slut if you'll tell people to stop calling me a rapist." It was hard to simultaneously know how worthless you were to the person who destroyed your life and to keep reminding yourself that you were actually worth more than that.

"Have you told Mom and Dad?" Owen asked.

"Not yet," Tristan said. "I was hoping you could help me, but I understand if you're way too busy for that."

"I'm never too busy for you, okay?" Owen said sternly. "I don't care if I have to cover the graveyard shift to make it work; I'll be at every hearing and every court date they throw at you, okay? We'll get this guy; I promise."

Tristan looked relieved. "I was really worried you were gonna kick his ass."

"That's my backup plan," Owen said, "but we'll give this trial thing a shot first. I'll go with you to tell Mom and Dad, and then we should call our lawyer before we talk with this kid's family. This is gonna work out."

"Thanks," Tristan said gratefully.

"Sounds like you two got this from here," I interrupted.

As I exited the apartment building, preparing to open my navigation app, I quickly pressed the green phone button next to Miles's name.

"Zoë! Perfect timing! Grace is bored with my pool, so we're all going for tacos. You and Tris are still invited if you're free now."

It was a sweet offer, and I hated to dash his hopes. "Tristan's working things out with Owen," I said, "but I can probably make it."

"Sounds cool," he said. "We should probably get our story straight before you get here though. Make sure you don't look unavailable. Did I heartlessly dump you, or did you just realize you're too good for me?"

"I like the second one better," I said with a smile. "No offense."

"The tea is scalding tonight," he said with mock-offense.

I realized it would be better if we stayed closer to the truth. If hell froze over and I _did_ win Grace's heart, I didn't want to have to lie to her. "We could just say we've decided to be friends," I suggested. "Or we could say that you're hopelessly in love with your ex, which is obvious to everyone."

This actually gave him pause. "It's not obvious!" he said. "How obvious is it?"

"Incredibly obvious," I said. "Unless you're Tristan."

Miles laughed. "I'm waiting to see you and Grace together. Then we'll see who has the obvious crush around here!"

I had surprisingly good luck catching my first bus. Maybe I hadn't lost my chance with Grace after all.

When Miles texted me the address of _Lola's Cantina_ , I didn't make the connection that it belonged to _the_ Lola. The moment I glanced through the partially glass door, I saw my pink-and-purple-haired former teammate pouring someone's lemonade out of a pitcher. Her waitressing smile vanished as soon as she heard the bell ring on the door and saw me enter.

She stiffly took the pitcher back to the counter and rushed back to grab me a menu. At least she wasn't planning on refusing me service. Looking distastefully my way, she murmured "Just one?"

"No," I corrected her. "I'm meeting friends," I said, hoping to emphasize that I _had_ friends.

Lola's expression suggested that she wasn't sure if her friends took me back and forgot to tell her or if, by some miracle, some new people had decided to like me.

"She's with us," I heard someone say. I turned to my left and was surprised to see that it was Grace who stood up for me. Maya, Zig, and Miles just waved in agreement.

"O-kay then," Lola said, walking toward their table.

My friends were sitting at what would normally have been a four person table. Zig and Maya were seated next to each other, and Grace was on the opposite side. Miles beamed at me from the awkward fifth-wheel chair, and I immediately knew that he saved the spot next to Grace for me.

Grace quickly stood up. "I can switch with Miles if you two want to sit together," she offered.

"It's okay," I said.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "How long before either one of you admits you're dating?"

" _Were_ dating," Miles corrected.

Maya stared at me all agape and then shot a glare at Miles, almost like she felt betrayed that he hadn't confided in her. "Seriously?" she asked. "How did you manage to keep quiet about this the whole time we were at the pool?"

"What can I say, it's embarrassing!" Miles shrugged. "Guess I'm just not dating Zoë material."

I eyed him nervously, wondering what kind of game he was playing, but he gave me his confident _relax, I got this_ smile, and I tried to believe it.

Now, Maya looked completely intrigued. "You dumped Miles?" she asked.

"Guess now we have something in common," I said.

"Other than Novak, you mean?" Grace laughed. "One of you needs to date somebody that the other never liked."

Maya frowned. "Drop it, okay?"

Zig wore a knowing expression, and Grace looked on with confusion. "I was just giving you a hard time."

Apparently Maya was having a much harder time than Grace had expected. I suddenly remembered Tristan telling me that Maya's grade nine love life was strictly off-limits. Something terrible had happened, apparently, and she never wanted to talk about it again.

"I had a boyfriend Maya didn't date," I volunteered suddenly, hoping to relieve the unwanted attention. "I actually dated Kevin for about three months."

"The guy who played Eric Lettau?" Grace asked incredulously.

"You watch West Drive?"

"Kelsey does," Grace corrected. "She's my little sister."

I felt flustered at the idea that Grace knew who I was before I ever knew who she was, especially since I knew Gatsby had a decent number of gay and bisexual fangirls into her because of some subtext with Sara. Grace probably wasn't one of those fangirls, but I could dream.

"Don't tell Tristan I dated Kevin, okay?" I asked. "He wants to marry Eric Lettau?"

Miles obviously hadn't been listening because he nearly jumped at the idea of Tristan getting married to a fictional character. "Who's this Eric guy?" He lowered his voice to avoid drawing Maya and Zig's attention. "He's not cuter than me, is he?"

"About the same," I said. "Don't worry; Eric's just a fantasy."

This didn't seem to entirely reassure Miles. If his feelings were that strong, then I wished he would just say he was sorry and take Tristan back already.

"So," Zig said awkwardly. "How's everyone's summer going?"

Everyone looked at each other uncomfortably until Grace finally spoke. "I went to a science camp last week. It was pretty rad."

I couldn't help but smile, imagining Grace in dorky lab glasses. "What kind of science?"

"Mostly genetics," Grace explained. I got a partial science credit for it. Of course it was one of the most intense weeks of my life, but it was worth it! How about you? What've you been up to?"

Lounging around in Miles's pool didn't seem like a great answer, so I tried to think of what else had been going on. "I auditioned for _Legally Blonde_ , _the Musical_. I'd have to dye my hair, but I think I killed _So Much Better_."

"Isn't Elle Woods in grad school, though?" Maya asked.

"It's Toronto Teen Theater," I explained. "The whole cast will be under twenty-one."

Miles seemed to be sitting on a mountain of anxiety in his fifth-wheel chair. "Is Tristan okay?" he suddenly ejected.

I nodded. "He's in good hands. Owen's taking care of him."

Both Grace and Zig looked thoroughly confused. "What's wrong with Tristan?" Zig asked.

"He's going through some stuff," Miles explained quickly, "but it's gonna be alright."

Grace suddenly turned to face me with an intense look in her eye. I felt nervous having her this close and this attentive, especially because I could not even imagine what she wanted to say to me. "I want to ask you something, and be honest, okay?"

I could feel myself blushing. "Sure. Anything."

"Does Tristan actually like his hair, or was he just saying that to spare my feelings?"

The gap between my completely unrealistic expectations and the reality of what she said forced me to laugh. Loudly.

"He hates it," she winced.

"No way," I said. "That's not why I'm laughing."

"Then why are you laughing?" she asked. "Do _you_ hate it?"

"I think it looks amazing," I said. "The brown was fine, but black really makes a statement."

"Thanks," she said, seeming to genuinely appreciate the compliment.

We were talking, which was good, but I was worried we'd soon run out of material. "I could use a new look," I said. It was technically true; I had had the same brown hair for my whole life, and changing it up could only help my image. "Any ideas?"

Grace looked genuinely excited. "Well, I can think of lots of things to do, but I know you'll hate them all."

"Try me," I said.

"Well, since red's a good color on you, we could always go with some red streaks. Nothing too loud, just a couple here and there. Or we could do skinny ones that sort of blend with your natural hair color. I'm not as good at those, though. You might want to go to a salon for that. Or, if you wanted to really be interesting, we could do a burgundy. I don't think you can pull off platinum, and I know Tristan would hate me if I let you copy his black."

"The streaks sound cute," I said.

"You should go for it!" Miles said.

There was a strong likelihood that if I randomly changed my hair without consulting her or my agent first, my mother would panic. There was an even stronger possibility that a dye job and subsequent touch-ups would give me plenty of chances to get closer to Grace. "Just say when!"

 **Author's Note: Sorry there hasn't been much Gracevas so far in this Gracevas fic, but I wanted to make sure Tristan's situation wasn't entirely overlooked. I'm also sorry it has taken me forever to post this chapter. I hope you'll all forgive me and that everyone's looking forward to Next Class.**


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